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Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2010 with funding from 

Lyrasis Members and Sloan Foundation 

the QleaneR 

established 1901 

Delaware Valley College of Science and Agriculture 

Doylestown, Pennsylvania 18901 

Spring 1985 


Cammy Alcorn 
Nancy Lukert 


Tish Duffy 

Literary Work 

Cammy Alcorn 


Jamie Beck 

Tish Duffy 


Betsy Ferris Hague 

Drew Larson 

Nancy Lukert 

Edward O'Brien, Jr. 

Veronica Paris 

Pam Predmore 


Susan Richart 

Dr. Richard Ziemer 


John Constable 
Ann Drobner 
Brian Eshenaur 
Jeannine Gravel 
Pam Hines 
Tim Ireland 
Dana Staffieri 


Linda Mae Bauer 
Barb Brennan 
Becky Spinnler 

The Gleaner is a student publication. Those opinions expressed within are not necessarily those of 
The Gleaner editors. Neither the college nor the editors will assume responsibility for plagarism 
unknowingly occurring within. 

Photo by Ann Drobner 

you ape my qui6e 

ramblin on, ramblin out 

stumblin on, stumblin out 

throw me 

throw me 

a safety raft 

floatin on, floatin out 

cruisin on, cruisin out 

cast me 

cast me 

the anchor deep 

i'm hindered 
i'm lost 

away from you 
when i'm alone 

i'm holdin on 

don 't let go 

i'm holdin on 

let our love grow 

just call my name 
and we'll be one 

as i drift and i drift 
the waves begin to lift 
floatin onward 
floatin outward 

i'll always be 
driftin onward 
and outward 

you are my guide 

i'm complete 
i'm safe 

secure with you 
when you're with me 

it's new 

it s young 

growing dense 
growing dense 

it's up to you 
to let it speak 

hopin only for you 
for you to shout 
shout my name 

Cammy Alcorn 

/ thought I knew you once 

You were like tomorrow 

always there 

to greet 

to smile at 

to cry to. 

My tomorrows 

have turned to just todays 

because they change 

and come so guickly 

and like you 

get swept away 

Tish Duffy 

Photo by Dana Staf fieri 

Photo by Brian Eshenaur 

Some people enter our Hues neuer knowing their effect, 
and all they leaue 

are footprints . . . upon our hearts. 

Nancy Lukert 

I'll Still Be . 

When the rocks and hills divide us 
I'll still be thinking of you. 

When the road is too far to travel 
I'll still be missing you. 

When the nights are long and cold 
I'll still be wanting you. 

When my tears fall heavy and you're not here 
I'll still be needing you. 

When time passes slowly 'til next we meet 
I'll still be waiting for you. 

Even when our hearts can 't beat together 
I'll still be loving you. 

Susan Richart 

Photo by Pam Hines 

On Second thought, mayee 1 Should 

How many times have we wanted to say something special to someone else 
and have browsed through, say, Mother's Day cards looking for the right word- 
ing? We care enough, and we send the best card our money can buy, but 
actually saying "You're special" or "I love you" would mean so much more. 
Many of these cards begin with sentiments expressed in a concessionary way: 
"Although, I may not often say it, I just wanted to tell you ..." We have dif- 
ficulty heaving our heart into our mouth. How often have you heard someone 
express concern with "If I only had" or "I wish I had done . . . "? 

For nine years, while I was in college, I was assigned to do weekly exten- 
sion service of a practical nature in connection with my major in religion. I 
conducted classes in religious instruction on Saturdays in a small South 
Carolina town, working with black and white families on a regular basis. 
Becoming pleasantly acquainted with them, I felt accepted by both com- 
munities. Coming from the West, I was unfamiliar with the longstanding 
cultural pattern of racial segregation, but I accepted it as a fact and never tried 
to upset the pattern in the lives of any members of the classes. 

All this occurred during the late 1950s and early 1960s, and by the time 
that the Civil Rights Movement began to gain momentum, several of us who 
worked in black communities were advised to cut back our inter-racial contact 
or eliminate it. When I mentioned that fact to some of the parents of class 
members who had been grateful for our time and efforts spent with them, they 
voiced dismay and asked me to keep up this work, I did. Reflecting on that 
service, I would do it the same way again with one exception. After one class 
was over at the end of the year and while I was passing through the court- 
yard, a five-year-old black boy called to me and asked, "Mista Richart, kin I 
kiss you on yo' cheek?" My gut feeling was to say "Yes" but my cultural 
response was to say "No" I reasoned him out of it by saying how others 
might misinterpret it. Having no idea of how many sets of eyes were on us in 
the outer courtyard, I said, "How about if we shake hands like grown-up men 
do?" He agreed. Now, from the vantage point of twenty-five years later, what 
would a hug or kiss have mattered? It certainly could not have precipitated an 
incident similar to the one at Fort Sumter, could it? I wish I had granted him 
his request: it could have made my day and his whole year. 

During the early 1970s, I passed again through that little town and stopped 
to see Miss Effie, one of the mothers in whose house we met, a lady the same 
age as my own mother. When her neighbors said that she went shopping at 
the local Piggly Wiggly store, I left to search for her. Miss Effie, sure enough, 
was in the frozen food aisle picking over chicken and pork roasts as I ap- 
proached. Getting closer, I said "Helloooooooh, Miss Effie!" She turned on two 
spindly legs, dropping packages and her jaw, which exposed the gold incisor, 
and exclaimed, "Mista Richart!" And there was one of the best black and 
white reunions I ever witnessed. I'm glad I did. A few years later, after our 

cont 'd on page 9 

daughter was born, my parents visited Independence Mall and to see the Liberty 

Bell. "I just wanted to reach out and touch it" she said. "Rats!" I thought, as I 

let up on the accelerator, "you mean you didn 't?" "Millions have. " But she 

thought it was not allowed. Again the gut reaction says "yes " and the cultured 

conditioning says "no. " Another "I wish I would have. " 

cont 'd on page 1 

"Taking a cue from hearing many people say this of friends whom they parted 
from, never to see again, whom they wish they had said one last kind word 
to or done a requested errand for but did not, I realize that I cannot turn back 
the clock on my initial reactions either. If these experiences have given me 
wiser insights on relationships. I've learned that every encounter is historical, 
never to be repeated in the same way. It's so easy to pass through the other 
people's lives as spectators, instead of as participants and mutter, what do 
they mean to me?" only to learn that they have moved or suffered some loss 
or needed encouragement that I could have given or shared with them. 

"On second thought, maybe I should, " needs to be revised to become an in- 
itial impulse, overriding the fears of incosequential results. In this respect Leo 
Buscaglia s emphasis on sharing feeling, love, care, sincerity and hugging is 
right. I hope that I can radically modify my cold Germanic approach 
to relationships. 

Dr. Richard C. Zimmer 

Artwork by Linda Mae Bauer 

1 Watch the Rain 

Sitting in a chair 

quietly watching the rain 

cascade through the trees 

watching the raindrops 

stream down the pane — reflecting 

the ones on my cheek, 

I rock back and forth 

listening for the sweet bird songs. 

Touching the cool glass, 

I gaze at the rain 

dripping from emerald leaves, 

quietly thinking of you. 

Tish Duffy 

Remember when life was so simple 
and in people you found friends 
and in friends you found loved ones 
and in loved ones you found security. 

But there comes a day, 

when these friends are just people 
and the loved ones, just friends 
and you re feeling insecure. 

This is the day you're all alone. 
Alone to grow and meet yourself. 
And in yourself you find independence 
and in independence you find security. 

And you learn . . . 

Only when you 're secure with yourself, 
can you find security with others. 

Cammy Alcorn 

Photo by Ann Drobner 

Photo by John Constable 

What's it like to be hurt? 
Can anyone really say? 
We 'ue all been hurt before. 
It happens everyday. 

There are broken hearts, 

that never seem to mend. 

The truths that were not spoken, 

that so many often bend. 

So many take their chances. 

So many always fall. 

And no one s there to catch them. 

Nobody hears them call. 

Susan Richart 

As the rain streams down the window 

I look outside and think of you. 
As the sun peers through the curtains . 

I look outside and think of you. 
As I hear the autumn leaves rustle . . . 

I look outside and think of you. 
As the snow falls from the winter sky . 

I took outside and think of you. 
Our love . . . unseasonal . . . forever. 

Nancy Lukert 

/ want 

to capture your smile 

with my sparkling glance 

I want 

to leave you breath-taken 

with my beauty 

I want you 

to love me 

But you can 't or 
won't or 
shouldn 't or 
something ..." 

/ have me to give you but 

It's just not enough — 
it never is 

I'm not everything 

I want 

to be or 

you want me to be or 

they want me to be 

All I have- 
stripped of my efforts 
my wishes 
my heart 

are words — 

to steal your heart away. 

Tish Duffy 

heap the Win6 

Hear the wind, 
Hear the wind, 

blowing through the trees. 
Hear the wind, 

can you hear the wind, 

making quite a breeze? 
Hear the wind, 
Do you hear the wind, 

whistling over the seas? 
Hear the wind, 
I can hear the wind, 

with a sound that is trying to please. 

Jamie Beck 

Magic is the sun that makes 

a rainbow out of rain, 

and magic keeps the dream alive 

to try and try again, 

and magic is the love that stays 

when good friends have to leave. 

I do believe in Magic. 

I believe. 

When I was young I thought the stars 

were made for wishing on, 

and every hole deep in a tree 

must hide a leprechaun. 

Old houses all had secret rooms 

if one could find the door 

but who believes in magic anymore? 

When I grew up the grownups said 

one day I'd wake to find 

that magic is a childish game 

I'd have to leave behind. 

Like clothes that no longer fit 

and toys that I ignore 

I'd not believe in magic anymore. 

I'm older now, and I've found to my surprise 

that magic did not fade away, 

it only wears a new disguise — 

a child, a song, a friend, a smile; 

the courage to stand tall 

for love's the greatest magic 

of them all. 

Magic is the sun that makes 

a rainbow out of rain 

and magic keeps the dream alive 

to try and try again 

and magic is the love that 

stays when good friends have to leave. 

I do believe in magic 

for love's the greatest m^gic. 

I do believe in magic 

I believe . . . 

Pam Predmore 

Artwork by Linda Bauer 


Photo by Tish Duffy 

Photo by Tim Ireland 

/ saw you standing next 
to a dandelion 
shaded by its soft 
yellow petals. 
Sunshine glimmered 
through the 
stems around us. 
You stood silent 
as the aura of gold 
swirled around us. 
How insignificant 
we were 
standing there 
amongst the dandelions- 

Tish Duffy 

Afghanistan passage 

Distant mountains come to life. 
Northern winds cut like a knife. 
Native guide starts moving on. 
From the valley, hear shepherd's song. 
Two more miles, must stop for night. 
Shadows move around, dancing firelight 

To reach the temple, two more days, we must go. 

At break of dawn, the rain turns to snow. 

Across the hill, an outpost stands. 

Must leave the road, start out overland. 

Morning sky, streaked with red. 

In the frozen wasteland, all life seems dead. 

Drew Larson 

Photo by Jeannine Gravel 



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Photo by Ann Drobner 

Special Un&eRStan&inq 

/ walk along the lake where we've walked together, 

and I can't help but think of you. 
I crush the fallen leaves beneath my feet, 

their colors no longer as beautiful and vibrant, 
without you here with me. 
The sky is not as blue, as clear 

as when you walked with me. 
The air is not as fresh, as fragrant, 

as when you walked with me. 
Instead of seeing the beauty we once shared, 

it all passes me by. 

Everything I see reminds me of you. 

I look out onto the water and see only the reflection of your face. 

I stop to think, and sit at the picnic table, 

where we shared so many sunny mornings, 

sharing our thoughts, our dreams. 
I remember the first time, 

you felt comfortable enough to open up and share yourself with me. 

how happy I was that day . . . 
/ thought that was the start, that you had made a decision, 

to give us a chance. 
But I guess I misunderstood, it wasn 't me you were looking for. 
How could you be? 
When you hadn 't let go of her. 
So many signs you gave me, encouraging me, 
When I think back on those days 

it was then that I fell too fast. 
Wanting so much for us to work, 

that I was blind to the other signs you gave. 
How could I have been so foolish? 

I continue walking, trying my hardest to forget the misunderstanding. 
Sometimes now when I walk by our lake, I think of you. 
And sometimes when I try hard enough, I can think about us and smile. 
Because I realize that I didn 't really misunderstand you, 

that you really do care, 

if not as a lover, as a friend. 
And maybe we're better off this way. 
So now when I look out onto our lake, 

I see the reflection of happy memories, 

shared smiles . . . 
And a time of special understanding . . . finally, my friend. 

Nancy Lukert 

Silent Something 

Nothing can be Something, 

that Someone wants No one to know. 
Yet, when No one turns into Someone, 

the Nothing is now Something known. 

Cammy Alcorn 


^ . 



Artwork by Barb Brennan 

Photo by Tim Ireland 

Our love is the right love because 
you are you 
and I am me 
and you and me 
make us we. 

Susan Richart 

Por you 

For you 

I'd capture a falling star 
and put it in ajar 

so euerytime you're down 
you could let a little out 

and it would light up your world 
bringing the glow back in your smile. 

For you 

I'd construct an endless rainbow 
containing all spectral colors 

so when your days turn black and white 
you could cut off a piece 

and set it free 
making your world colorful again. 

For you 

I'd put a raindrop 
in a crystal box 

so you could put it in a secret place 

and take it out 
illuminating your eyes, making them sparkle again. 

For you 

I'd capture stars 

build rainbows 

keep raindrops in crystal boxes 

if that will make you happy. 

Tish Duffy 

The sea wants nothing that we can bring it. 

All our treasures seem faded beside its emerald majesty. 

And when, all that troubles us is cast into the sea, 

We receive the greatest treasure of all . . . 

Peace of mind. 

Veronica Paris 


Photo by Jeannine Gravel 

Photo by Ann Drobner 

Subtle rising of a dawning sun 
Unveils the innocence and 
Newness of myself 
Reawakened by the early light 
Immersed in love and peaceful 
Solitude glowing in 
Eternal warmth. 

Tish Duffy 


**r--* mi ' 

A Sol&iep's Saga 

/ can't tell you how I know it, but so many times before, 

I've been called upon to lead young men, to go off and fight in war. 

It may have been in 1915, or perhaps it was in '44. 

But I can feel it now, in my heart, that I have been here before. 

I've seen my tanks spread out, to cross the steppes of the vast Ukraine. 
And I've made my bed in some unknown wood, in the cold September rain. 
I've shared the suffering of all my men, and yes, I'ue known their pain. 
But they were strong and through it all, not once did they complain. 

When I close my eyes and stop to think, you know that I can see, 
the horror and death that results, because of man's stupidity. 
The senseless waste of brave young men, who die to serve their country. 
And I've seen it in the orphans' faces, which echo their misery. 

I've seen the fear of villagers as they turn to run and hide. 

And I've sent countless letters to next of kin, to say their men have died. 

My tank and I, we are as one, and death have we defied, 

to fulfill the goals of politicians. So often have they lied. 

I've served my time in the fields of France, in mud up to my knees, 

And I've known the Russian winter, so cold that tank treads freeze. 

And I've killed my share of my fellow man, ignoring all their pleas, 

in order that I might carry out the high command's decrees. 

I've warred across all of Europe, from the Volga to the Seine. 
And had my tiger tank destroyed, beneath me, on some lonely Belgian lane. 
I've always obeyed my generals, though they treat us with such disdain. 
And I watched my only boy die in Kiev, Sniper's bullet in his brain. 

Don't talk of battle's glory, of honor, or of victory. 

For I have seen too much of battle, maybe more than a man should see. 
So when I'm called before my God, as every good soldier will be, 
May he remember it was my duty, and be merciful to me. 

I address myself to those of you that have not been there before. 
You'll find no glory, no romance, when you have to go to war. 
Just ask any soldier and he'll reply the same, I'm sure. 
"If I had my way, " he would say, "We would have war no more. " 

Drew Larson 

.-, : ;*%? ',■ 


Friendship is a shiny thing, 

a steady beam, of light. 

a lantern in a lonely street, 

a song far in the night. 

The gentle touch of a loving hand, 

Artwork by Linda Bauer aR OUt P OSt OR a Ml 

And oh, what a happy little child 

bringing home a daffodil. 

Friendship is a binding tie, 

of one soul to another, 

a gentle tender relationship 

of children with father and mother, 

a raindrop sparkling on an autumn leaf, 

a quiet moment on a hill. 

And oh, what a happy little child 

bringing home a daffodil. 

Friendship is a happy thought, 
a warmness in your heart. 
Friends are those who understand, 
and friends will never part, 
two people very much in love, 
a life that s never still. 
And oh, what a happy little child 
bringing home a daffodil. 

Pam Predmore 

Sometimes I like to sit and think 

of the people that mean the most to me. 

Of those who fill my life with smiles, 

and those who make my days worthwhile. 

The only moments that time can spare, 
I'll treasure forever, 

and the friendship we share. 

Cammy Alcorn 

Photo by John Constable 

Photo by John ConatabU 


/ can see the reflection of the fire in your eyes. 

With logs for chairs, 

we gaze into the starry summer sky. 

Nearby we hear the sounds of the river, 

and the music of the crickets. 

No need to speak, 

we are together in our thoughts. 

How happy we were. 

We had to say goodbye, 
summer can 't last forever. 
As the chill of winter sets in, 
you too become cold. 
Seasons change. 
Feelings change. 
I miss the warmth. 

Nancy Lukert 

Am I trying too hard 

to' find that spark? 
Is it there and I just can t find it 
or am I just pretending 

to see it. 
Because I need to find it? 


Photo by Tim Ireland 


Sometimes it takes a cloudy day 

to appreciate a sunny one. 
Sometimes it takes a wrong decision 

in order to make a right one. 
Sometimes it takes a little fear 

to make you feel secure. 
Sometimes it takes a dark passage 

to see the light of day. 
Sometimes it takes a little sorrow 

in order to feel happy. 
Sometimes it takes a couple of dreams 

to see reality. 
Sometimes it takes old friends 

to appreciate new ones — and 
Sometimes it takes a little hate 

to feel a lot of love. 

Susan Richart 

Photo by John Constable 

Once, I was alone 

on a crisp autumn day 

shuffling through dry, crackling colors 
wanting you there to walk with me. 

Once, I was scared 

on a black winter night 

lying in my bed watching shadows 

of the moon dance on the wall 
Needing you there to make them go away. 

Once, I was happy 

on a sunny, fresh spring morning 

lying in the green grass 

singing to myself 
Wanting you there to share my day. 

Once, I cried 

on a rainy summer's day 
shuddering at each crack of thunder 

Needing you there to wipe away my tears. 

I grew up. 

Now, I know when I'm alone 
you can 't always come running 
to be my friend. 

I know when I'm scared 

you can 't fight off all the scary monsters 

and be my protector. 

I know every time I'm happy 

we can 't always share the day together 

as pals. 

I know euerytime I cry 
you won 't be there to dry my tears 
and be my shield from all that hurts. 

And, I know you can 't always be proud of me 
Sometimes I'll make mistakes. 

But I will always be your daughter 
And you will always be my daddy. 

That is enough 

because I love you very much. 

Tish Duffy 

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Artwork by Linda Bauer 

The days are bleak. 

No longer do they shine. 
So it s off to seek 

some universal sign. 
Thai is where the heart goes. 

Lonely nights last so long, 

since she went away, 
Who was right if no one's wrong? 

Strange games we play . . . 
Anger's fire glows. 

Drew Larson 

Photo by Ann Drobner 

It's been a long game 

It seemed like all the cards were in your favor. 
You had all the right moves. 
Everyone was fooled . . . 
And you might've won had I not 
called your bluff. 

Susan Richart 

passing thROuqh hellas 

Once upon a time, the Greeks built a castle with two banners flying from its 
rampart: the white banner of Reason and the golden banner of Experience. A 
broad and deep moat lay like a protective girdle around the building, and to 
cross over the drawbridge one had to pass many tests in various tongues, given 
by the pedantic troll at the gate. Some knights he sent away with his stygian 
grin, while others he let pass the gate when they did homage to the two ban- 
ners. Still others were stricken with terror by the troll and fled, unmanned. 

This fortress was called the castle of Philosophy (some bold people in after- 
rime called it Secular Humanism). It stood for a very long time, and some there 
are who say it is still standing, while others affirm it is only a mirage or a dusty 
shadow. And whoever came to dwell in that castle was given two swords and 
a shield to battle the dragons of skepticism, error, delusion, cynicism, and 
perversity. One sword was ivory and the other golden, while the name on the 
shield was Presumption. But the dragons were strong and cunning and wise in 
the ways of deception, for they served the god of Babel, and hence all the 
knights of the castle were overthrown by the dragons and devoured, or given 
unto the bondange of the Prince of Abyss. And so the castle of Philosophy did 
not prosper but languished, full of the cobwebs of confusion and bitter conten- 
tion. Though young knights still came to its door at dawn hungry for truth, they 
found only frustration, and they became a jest to the people of Judah, who 
passed by on their way to the court of the rightful King. 

One fine day, Augustine of Hippo went journeying through Hellas and so 
came to the castle of Philosophy. By this time, it had grown grim and forbid- 
ding and depressing with its own kind of menacing senility. But Augustine was 
not afraid, for he wore the sign of the lamb on his helmet, a strange device to 
the knights of that castle, who mocked him for a churl. He tarried no to parley 
with them, but advanced to the gate at the drawbridge where the troll impudent- 
ly challenged him. That insolent wretch was instantly struck dumb by these 
words, spoken by the pilgrim from Hippo: "Qui Verbum Dei contempserunt, eis 
aufereturetiam verbum hominis. "' Augustine then entered the castle confidently 
and went up to the highest tower and flew there from a splendid banner em- 
broidered with a bloody cross, and this banner flew higher and freer than the 
other two, for it was the banner of Faith. 

Then Augustine came down and went forth from the castle, passing lightly 
over the dreary moat, bearing a mighty sword called The Word and a shield 
with this inscription thereon: "Credo ut Intelligam. " 2 And he slew all the dragons 
and prevailed. But never returned he to the land of Hellas, for he passed to the 
city of Jerusalem, the home of the rightful King. 

'They that have despised the word of God, from them shall the word of man 
also be taken away. 
2 \ believe in order that I may know. 

Edward O'Brien Jr. 








Photo by Brian Eshenaur 

If dreams were real . . . 

You and I would grow old together. 

Wed build a cabin in Vermont, 

on the shores of a crystal clear lake, 

at the base of the snow capped mountains. 

We'd spend our days, 

outside in the fresh air. 

Swimming our lake, hiking our mountain. 

And at night, 

we'd cuddle by the fireplace. 

Wondering . . . 

if tomorrow could be any better 

Nancy Lukert 

Photo by John Constable 


Photo by Ann Drobner 

I wasn't looking for you, 

you came into my life so unexpectedly, 

like a summer rainstorm. 

I didn 't want to care, 

but you gave me no choice. 

You tugged at my heart, 

until it had no choice, 

but to follow you. 

Nancy LukerL 

Artwork by Becky Spinnler 

the Open field 

/ went to the apple orchard, 

and I sat on an old rusty plow. 

The open fields seem to go on endlessly. 

I was by myself. 

I searched my heart and mind; 

Trying to figure out, why, like the open fields, 

we can 't go on endlessly, too, 

instead of being by ourselves. 

Dusk will soon be here, 

bringing in the cold air 

and the first killing frost. 

In the morning, the open fields will be empty. 

Everything will be dead. 

Like the open field, struggling for more time. 

I too, struggle. 

I need more time to grow, share, 

and to be trusted and loved. 

No one ever has a say in the matter. 

I guess by nature, it happens that way. 

Leaving the open field will be hard; 

knowing that it won't be the same when I return. 

Or will it? 

Saying "Good-bye" to you, will be the hardest thing 

in my life I'll ever go through. 

The "Good-bye" is not the hard part. 

It's knowing when I'll see, hear, hold you next. 

Or, if I ever will . . . 

It's dark now, 

damp and cold . . . 

And I still sit here, wondering. 

One thing 's for sure, 

My love, I have for you. 

You '11 have it for as long as you want it. 


Photo by John Constable 

Photo by Pam Hines 

Photo by Tim Ireland 

Photo by John Constable 

/ lie in my cluttered 
stereophonic room 


to the flowing tones of 

flute and jazz piano 
Hearing only the 

lilting music 
Feeling the beat of 

my heart. 

Anticipating the climax 

building to a 
Force which breaks 

and comes down 


Skipping across the rhythmic 


the music 

my emotions 
knowing you were all I had. 

I cry 

as the flute melts to a whisper 

as the piano trills its last allegro — pianissimo 

I strain to hear the ebbing tones. 

you were all I had left 

grasping onto this reality. 
I melt 

Tish Duffy 

All season, now. this field has grown. 

I watched, when first the seeds were sown. 

And by its edge, each moonlit eve, 

my fingers through its green-ness weaued. 

I listened, not with ears, but eyes. 
What I see. tells fewer lies. 
Shoots bowed before the winds that blew, 
but always to the sunlight grew. 

I thought the days would always last. 
But eternal summers quickly pass. 
And now in Autumn's hinting cold, 
another green field turns to gold. 

I have a wish that on the eve, 
my time turns gold, my heart believes. 
I've lived in strength and peace serene, 
like this gold field, when it was green. 


Photo by John Constable 

Photo by Tish Duffy 

You never knew it, but 

you thrilled me 

your sparkling eyes made me smile 

your thoughts made me cry. 

I never told you, but 

I love you 

you made my life a little brighter 

you surrounded my world with warmth. 

I'll never understand 

why you left 

and chose to take yourself from this world 

with your own hand. 

But I have learned, and, 

if perhaps another like you wanders into my life. 

I will tell him 

how much I care. 

Betsy Ferris Hague 

/ have me 

it seems 
that's all I need— 

and at times 
all I have. 

Tish Duffy 


'*? ? 

™ ■«* J* 

^ * 


* s 


■fci _ 

Photo by Jeannine Gravel 

| > <MMM 


i .^^w A 




Photo by John Consteible 

"I'll be on time!" I've heard him. say. 

"We'll do that . . . and by the way ..." 

"Did I tell you that we simply cannot 

"Because, oh honey . . . I almost forgot ..." 

"How 'bout next weekend? . . . Then it's a date?" 

"No matter what. I won't be late!" 

"Sorry to disappoint you again, but you see ..." 

"Something else came up — don't blame it on me. " 

"I promise I'll see you . . . you just say when. " 

"I'll whenever . . . as soon as I can. " 

"Got some bad news, hon, won't be able to make it. " 

"You're so understanding, I knew you could take it. " 

"It won't happen again, dear!" OR will it? We shall see, 

If there will be a next time and how long it will be. 

All these excuses I've heard and let pass. 

And now I've had it with that pain in the ass. 

I'm tired of waiting, about to blow my lid . . . so don't 

tell me what you're going to do — tell me what you did! 


In a moment . . . 

Everyone has left. 

the room smells of stale beer, 

and the smoke hangs in the air. 

Rod Stewart is still on the turntable, 

singing of some lost love, 

and you come to mind. 

All night, with all my friends, 

yet I keep waiting for you. 

to walk through the door. 

As hard as I try, I can't forget. 

You're always intruding on my thoughts. 

When I think I've broken free, 

you show up again, 

in a song, 

in a picture, 

in a memory. 

And all the steps I've taken to escape, are washed away, 

in a moment. 

Nancy Lukert 

Photo by 
John Constable 

Photo by John Constable 

now an& then 

Look at me, I'm down again. 

I gel this way, now and then. 

It's not that I have reason to cry, 

I'm just not happy — / don't know why. 

I just can't look forward to anything new, 

It seems like life is old and used. 

My problems are old and from the past. 
My sometimes happy moods don't last. 
I guess it 's time to change scenes once more. 
Throw all those depressions out the door. 

Pick up my life, start over again. 

I get this way, now and then. 

I look at the future and see an empty space. 

And know someday I'll have to take my place. 

I look to the past, and what do I see? 

Nothing but darkness looking back at me. 

Yeah, I get this way, now and then. 

Pam Predmore 

I'm on my way to a better place 

A place I can 't explain. 
I don't know when I'll get there. 

And I don 't know where it is. 

I know that it's a happy place, 

where beauty and peace linger every day. 
It's a place that many dream of, 

and few will ever see. 

I roam the world around me, 

looking to find this land. 
But not until my hourglass, 

has seen each grain of sand. 

I believe someday I'll get there, 
but the decision !s not up to me. 

'Cause you have to be invited, 
to the land of eternity. 

Cammy Alcorn 


Artwork by Linda Bauer 

editops note 

We would like to take this opportunity to extend our gratitude to everyone 

who made the Gleaner 1 985 possible. 

Thanks to the students and faculty who shared their talents with us for you 

are what the Gleaner stands for. 

We can only hope you enjoy the Gleaner as much as we have enjoyed being 

a part of it. 

"... there is nothing more wonderful than a book, a message to us from 

human souls we have never seen . . . they arouse us, teach us, comfort us, 

open their hearts to us as brothers. " Kingsley. 


Cammy Alcorn 
Nancy Lukert 


Cover by Tish Duffy